


Best Laid Plans

by netlagd



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: AU, Help Haiti, M/M, qaf(us)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 12:15:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 19,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3410252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/netlagd/pseuds/netlagd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><img/><br/>Banner (and beta) by the truly wonderful and generous such_a_steph</p><p>Brian has a secret admirer - who could it be?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tclark1922](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=tclark1922).



> Timeline: AU, future  
> Disclaimer: All characters and situations from Queer As Folk are the property of Russell T. Davies, CowLip Productions, Tony Jonas Productions, Showtime Networks Inc. and others. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Written for the 2010 Help Haiti Auction.

"I found him Daph."

Daphne looked up from her carton of Moo Goo Gai Pan, where she had been trying to stab a piece of chicken with her chopsticks, "Him?"

"Him," Justin smiled his confirmation.

"Him… who?"

Justin waggled his eyes, "Him."

"No!" Daphne's eyes grew big and round.

"Yes!" Justin dunked a dumpling in the tangy soy ginger sauce and stuffed it, whole, into his mouth. As he chewed, the smile on his lips kept getting bigger. By the time he'd swallowed he had a Cheshire Cat grin plastered across his face.

Daphne returned to trying to stab a piece of chicken, trying to appear nonchalant, all the while her mind was racing. Calmly she asked, "How do you know it's him?"

Justin stretched and leaned back against the sofa, "Oh, it's him all right," he leaned forward and grabbed the Beef with Broccoli, then settled back again," and this time I'm not going to let him get away."

_Shit!_ Daphne threw her chopstick on the table, and reached into the carton with her fingers to grab hold of the chicken. She wasn't sure how she was going to go through this again.

****************  
Daphne tried to pay attention to the traffic as she drove silently back to her apartment. 

Justin's perfect man had a name. 

Brian Kinney. Brian. Fucking. Kinney. And he was here – in Pittsburgh – for fuck's sake!

Daphne had thought Justin had gotten the mystery man out of his system – apparently not. It had been three years – three years! – since she'd heard a peep about Justin's perfect man, his perfect fuck, his perfect life mate. She laughed at the absurdity of it all. 

How can a one night stand that ended with the guy running out on you, with some stupid excuse of his son needing to have an emergency tonsillectomy, be the love of your life? It was ludicrous. The guy had to be some closet case with a wife and son at home. 

Justin had been consumed by the experience. Everything for the next two years seemed to be tied to that one night. Justin haunted the club where they had met – convinced he'd find the guy again. He'd burned up minutes on Daphne's lowly student cell phone plan – waxing poetic about the perfect man, ranting his frustration at not being able to find him, crying in despair that he would never see him again. 

Granted, it was an amazing period of growth for Justin, artistically. His talent seemed to grow exponentially with each rise and fall of his mercurial emotions. Good mood, bad mood, fair or foul, it was as if Justin could do no wrong with what he committed to canvas.

Justin appeared to have managed to come through the experience without too much damage to his craft, but at what personal cost? Daphne often blamed Justin's perfect fuck for fucking up any chance he had of committing to any relationship. Justin's perfect fuck – _up!_

The improvement and maturing of Justin's artistic style garnered him notice and catapulted him upon the art scene. Those who had hardly noticed him the two years prior, as he'd pounded the pavement making the rounds from gallery to gallery, now vied for his attention and the work he produced. Justin became a media darling, navigating the art circuit – the parties, interviews in the trade and art rags. He'd turned down the more commercial offers (he was sure Target would survive just fine without him). 

The night Justin sat down with Charlie Rose to discuss his work, Daphne committed the date to memory. It was the last time Justin had spoke of his perfect man. Daphne wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

She'd thought Justin had moved on. 

Good riddance, Mr. Perfect Fuck!

Justin even had that dalliance with the violin player. Daphne had never like the greasy musician, but if Justin was happy, who was she to complain?

For the last few years he'd flitted from man to man, more so trick to trick. Daphne didn't delve too deeply. The manic highs and depressing lows seemed to smooth out. She might have thought he was on something, but with his allergies she knew he avoided most drugs, except the occasional recreational ones whose lasting effects were gone by morning.

And now that calm was over. Perhaps, that's what she'd call the past few years when she'd look back at them – Justin's 'calm before the storm' period. Because Daphne knew; she knew it wasn't over. Daphne knew the hurricane was fast approaching. Fucking Hurricane Brian Kinney.

Daphne looked around; she was in front of her apartment building. She wasn't sure how she had even gotten there. Daphne pulled into a parking space, engaged the parking break, turned off the car and promptly knocked her head against the steering wheel three times.

What had Justin said as she was leaving tonight? Oh, yeah. "It's him, Daph. I've seen the face of god and his name is Brian Kinney."

_Shit! Brian Kinney, why the fuck do you have to live in Pittsburgh?_


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> _Gloxinia – Love at First Sight_

It started with flowers. Oh, not the ordinary dozen red roses, in a manufactured vase that was supposed to look like cut glass. Nope, these were deep red, maybe purple, almost black. They were heavy bells of velvety blossoms with bountiful soft leaves that burst forth from a hand thrown clay sculpture that just happened to be the vessel to hold the plant in rich, dark soil. The dark red glaze flowed down from the rim of the pot like blood oozing from a gaping wound. The plant and pot were startling, beautiful – a bit violent, yet exquisite.

"What the fuck is that?" Brian demanded of Cynthia as she placed the flowers on the table in front of the sofa in Brian's office at Kinnetik.

"I should think that even you should recognize flowers."

"I know they are fucking flowers. What the fuck are you doing putting them in here. Put them on your own desk."

"The note says they're for you."

Brian approached the bouquet, keeping his distance as if there might be a snake hiding, waiting for the right moment to burst forth and bite him with its fangs.

Brian circled the table. "I see no note. Take them away."

Cynthia handed him a heavy vellum envelope he'd managed to overlook. "They're for you. They're beautiful. They remind me of that suit you used to wear – all monochromatic – when we were at Ryder. Don't forget you have Eyeconics in 2 hours." She turned and left before he managed to respond. 

Keeping a watchful and distant eye on the flowers, Brian sat on the Italian white leather sofa and considered the weighty envelope in his hand. He looked at the blooming plant with distaste. The very idea that someone should send him flowers… he didn't like it.

Brian leaned back against the sofa. They were unusual; he leaned forward and slightly, very lightly, ran a finger along the furry edge of one bell. He pulled back, as if the velvet softness had burnt his finger. He frowned. _What sort of shit is this?_

Brian pondered the envelope. He removed himself from the couch, turning his back on the plant, and moved behind his desk. He threw the unopened envelope in the trash as he sat. Brian adjusted his chair, turned toward his monitor and opened an email.

To: Brian Kinney bakinney@kinnetik.com  
From:  
Subject: Gloxinia

_Do you like them?_

"What the…?" It was muttered under his breath. Brian wondered who was fucking with him. He hit the intercom.

"Theodore. Get the fuck in here."

Ted burst through the door less than a minute later, out of breath. "It wasn't my fault, I can explain…"

Brian looked up from his desk. "What do you mean? You can explain?"

"Huh?" Flustered, Ted stopped and regrouped. "You know, about the… wait! What did you want to see me about?"

"That." 

Ted followed the extension of Brian's arm and pointed finger. His gaze fell on the plant with the bell shaped blooms.

"Wow! Nice gloxinia."

Brian rubbed his eyes. "What do you know about it?"

"Huh?" Thoroughly confused, Ted just stared at Brian with his mouth agape.

"Shut your mouth, Ted, you’re catching flies."

Ted ventured closer to the table where the pot of flowers stood. He reached out, picked it up and turned it around, closely examining each shoot. "These are really nice – actually, they are quite perfect. All the leaves, buds and flowers are in perfect condition. Who sent them to you?" Ted went on to admire the sculpted pot, going so far to lift it up and look at the bottom. He let out a low whistle.

"What?" Brian demanded.

"Whoever sent these to you not only has good taste, he probably spent a small fortune. I thought I had recognized it – from an art show I went to last year when I was in NY on business. But I can't imagine anyone actually using it for a… a flower pot."

"What?" Brian was beyond annoyance.

"The pot, it's a Justin Taylor original."

"The painter?" Brian had several of the artist's paintings. 

Ted nodded, "and sculptor. I understand he's been branching out into other mediums. I think I read he'd been working in clay because it helped an injury that had effected his hand. Regardless, that's really an exceptional gift, and a bit amusing as well. Using the pot for flowers." Ted laughed. "Who did you say sent it to you?"

"I didn't."

"Didn't it come with a note? I'm sure the delivery service would have a record of who sent it. Maybe it's from Ballen Design in New York? They might carry something like this – plus they were quite pleased with the last campaign. Still, it is a bit excessive. An original Taylor like that is probably worth several thousand." Ted placed the pot back on the table and looked at Brian. "What did you call me down here for?"

Brian shook his head. "Never mind. Go back to work."

Ted took the opportunity to escape.

Brian returned to his desk chair. Steepling his hands, he watched the pot. Finally, giving into temptation, he reached into the trash and extracted the envelope. It was devoid of return address or company name. His name, _"Brian"_ was scrawled across the white surface in bold strokes. Brian reached for his letter opener.

_"I understand you don't do romance. However, I do."_

"Fuck this shit!" Brian threw the note into the trash, stared at the plant for five minutes and then retrieved the paper. He carefully inserted the heavy paper back into the envelope and placed it into his briefcase. Brian had wasted enough time; he had work to do. Turning back to his monitor, he clicked a few times and filed the email under a new folder called "stupid".

~>~>~>

The meeting with Eyeconics went off without a hitch. He knew it would. It was the best campaign yet that Kinnetik had pitched to them to date, and the Eyeconics team ate it up. As the group started to collect their things and leave, Caryn, the Marketing Director approached Brian.

"Yes?"

"I wanted to know if you had a few minutes to chat about another account?"

Brian schooled his face to display unfelt interest. "Sure, let's go to my office. I hope you don't mind if I take a short detour?"

Caryn nodded, so Brian ushered her into his office calling to Cynthia, asking her to get their assistant to get Caryn something to drink.

He took care of business in his executive washroom and exited, expecting to find Caryn seated in front of his desk. Instead she was seated on the sofa admiring the Gloxinia.

Caryn smiled as Brian took a side chair opposite her.

"At first I wasn't sure if Kinnetik would be the right agency…"

Brian's eyebrows rose ever so slightly, but he refrained from speaking and let her continue.

"But then I saw this beautiful gloxinia, and I knew that Kinnetik would be perfect for the job."

"The gloxinia?"

"My Grandmother has a floral delivery service…"

Brian was happy there wasn't a fork to stab in his eye. He smiled and let her continue.

"For as far back as I can remember, whenever I'd visit her she'd have fresh flowers and live plants throughout her house. Flowers and plants just make you feel good, you know? And then I saw this beautiful, perfect gloxinia and I knew…"

"Hmmm?"

"Kinnetik would be the perfect agency to help her put a new face on her business."

Inwardly Brian groaned. _Great! I get to play nursemaid to granny and give her little flowershop a makeover._

"Your Grandmother?"

Caryn nodded.

"Our campaigns can be a bit… edgy. Do you really feel we're the right match?"

"Well, I actually was going to ask you for a referral… But no." She gestured to the plant on the table. "This makes me realize that I underestimated you." Caryn rose and crossed to where Brian was seated, her hand outthrust. Brian rose and took the proffered hand.

Caryn shook it enthusiastically. "I know you're going to be fabulous! Just what she needs, and in time for the upcoming Holiday season! My grandmother's name is Helen Krohnel. I'll have her assistant contact your assistant."

Caryn headed out with a bit more spring in her step, muttering "This is going to be perfect!"

~>~>~>

Cynthia came in on clicking heels with a cup of coffee. She sat in the chair opposite Brian's desk and waited for him to acknowledge her. Brian looked up and raised an eyebrow.

"Caryn seems to be in good spirits."

Brian released a rather exasperated breath. "It seems she thinks Kinnetik is just the right firm to help her granny sell flowers."

Cynthia chucked. "Good lord, she knows what we charge, why did she think you'd be interested in a local florist?"

Brian lifted his chin up and nodded at the gloxinia on the table. "She had planned on asking for a referral, but when she saw _that_ she decided that Kinnetik would be the perfect agency."

"Oh dear!"

"That's okay, I'm sure you'll take care of her granny's account just fine."

"Me?"

Brian gave her a smarmy smile and went back to the work on his desk. Cynthia didn't budge. He looked up again.

Cynthia smiled brightly. "Ted tells me that the pot the flowers came in is worth a lot of money."

Brian grunted and returned to his work.

"The flowers are really unusual, do you know what type they are?"

"Gloxinias." Brian muttered his response, continuing to work on the papers in front of him.

"Hmmm." The tone made Brian look up. He vibrated his head a little bit and gave Cynthia a pointed stare. She smiled pertly at him. "I'm just saying, they're not the usual sort of thing from an admirer."

"What makes you think that they're not from a client?"

"Well, frankly, as good as you and Kinnetik are, I just don't see someone laying out a few thousand dollars on a gift for you without providing any way to trace it back to the source. Plus, it's rather personal."

"It’s a fucking pot of flowers."

"A fucking expensive pot," she countered.

Brian gave a snort. "Was there something you wanted, because if not…" Brian gestured to the paper covered desk.

"What did the card say?"

"There was no card."

"What was in the envelope?"

"None of your business."

Cynthia wrinkled her nose. "You could share – I'd share."

Brian shuddered at the thought of hetero gossip. "As if I need images of your sex life trolling around my brain."

"So it has to do with your sex life – shit, that must have been some night you shared."

"So it would seem." _Hell if I remember anything being memorable of late._


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Fuck, I can't keep this up._ Sunglasses still on his face, Brian slid into the booth furthest back in the diner and pleaded silently for his headache to go away. If he didn't know better, he'd think Anita had slipped him something mixed up in some bathtub in Tijuana. But he did know better. _What the fuck do you think you're trying to prove and to who?_

"Christ! You look like shit." Debbie dropped a cup and saucer on the table in front of Brian and filled it to the rim with coffee without even being asked to.

"Gee, thanks." He poured enough sugar in the cup to overflow the edge, stirred it and without a worry about drips, brought it to his lips for a sip. It may be Liberty Diner sludge, but today it was the nectar of the Gods.

"I haven't seen you like this in years. What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"It was retro night at Babylon last night – I partied like it was 1999." 

"Well, I hate to tell you kiddo, but that ship has sailed. I'm all for having a good time, but you aren't in your 20s anymore. You spend the whole night getting high, fucking and sucking and you have to pay the piper in the morning." A confused look came over Debbie's face. "Or something like that."

Brian snorted a laugh. "I'll take it under advisement." Debbie always did have a way of putting life in perspective.

Truth told, Brian knew better, but last night he couldn't help himself. It was those damned flowers. They'd taunted him all day Friday and by the time Saturday night came around, he'd headed to Babylon with one single thing in mind – proving he didn't do romance. It was like the Brian of ten years ago had returned – hot, high, and horny. He was on a mission to remind everyone that he was top dog, top stud, top – period.

Michael slid in across from him, followed by Ben. "You look like shit."

"So your mother already told me."

Ted and Emmett joined them in quick succession, rounding out the band of merry men.

"Oh, dear. You know, Brian…" Emmett paused, trying to think of the right thing to say.

"Honeycutt… don't. Just… don’t."

"You know, Brian…" 

Brian rolled his eyes at Ben's helpful tone. "Spare me, professor." Despite his friends' best intentions, he didn't need helpful advice or a lecture. "Let me drink my coffee in peace, then if I can make it to the door, I might drive over to the gym and sweat out some of whatever is left in my system.

Sympathetic glances were cast his way, but Brian's friends had the sense it was time to change topic.

"Did anyone see that Barbra is planning a new farewell tour?" Brian gave a small grin, Emmett could always be counted upon when it came to cliché fag gossip. He leaned into the corner where the booth and wall met, closed his eyes and let the absurd conversation wash over him like a lilting waterfall. Thankful for the sunglasses he drifted off to sleep and no one at the table was any wiser.

~>~>~>~>

"I'm here and I brought Pizza!" Daphne sang out as she let herself into Justin's studio.

Justin put down his brush and wiped his hands with a rag. "Good timing. I've hit a good stopping point, and I'm hungry. Do I have time for a shower?"

"Yeah, if you don't mind cold pizza. I'm eating mine while it's hot." Daphne placed the box and a bag on the counter of the kitchen island. 

"Put it in the oven to stay warm," Justin threw over his shoulder, headed to the bathroom, pulling his shirt over his head as he walked.

Daphne scoured the kitchen area in the cavernous studio for clean dishes. She grabbed a couple of paper towels to be used as napkins and snagged a couple of cokes from the fridge, before making her way over to the large cushions and futon that provided seating by the coffee table, near the TV.

Justin emerged from the bathroom, shirtless, sweats riding low on his hips, towel in his hands rubbing against his scalp. He slung the towel around his neck and made to sit down.

"Hey! Put a shirt on!"

"What? It's my place."

"Yeah, well, I'm a guest. You can at least act like you have some manners. By the way, when are they going to finish your apartment? Aren’t you getting tired of camping out in the studio – don't the fumes get to you?"

Justin stomped off to his makeshift bedroom and grabbed a shirt. "Its okay, only a couple more weeks before the work is done. The exhaust system I had installed takes care of the fumes." He pushed an arm through a sleeve and his head through the collar. "Better?" Daphne nodded.

"Yes, and bring the food." Daphne had arranged place settings on the coffee table.

Justin delivered the bag from the counter and retrieved the pizza box from the oven before flopping on a cushion next to Daphne.

"Did you get me sausage, peppers and onion?"

Daphne made a face. "Yes, that half is all yours."

Justin made short work of opening the box. "You have no idea what you are missing, this is the best stuff."

"I'm a purist – cheese and pepperoni."

They talked about the normal stuff – Daphne's job, Justin's upcoming show – until Daphne’s curious inquisition began. "Where were you last night?" 

Justin gave Daphne a sharp look before a mask of nonchalance slipped over it. "What do you mean?"

"I called you. You didn't answer your phone."

"You didn't leave a message."

"I figured I'd call you later, but forgot. So, where were you?"

"Out."

"Hmmm, very mysterious. Out, where?"

Justin laughed, "What is this? 20 questions?" His face was getting a bit red.

"If it is, I have 18 more. So give it up."

Justin was quiet as he chewed.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?"

Justin waggled his eyebrows.

"Oh… my… god! You got laid!" _Thank god! Perhaps he's given up on Mr. Perfect Fuck Brian Kinney._

Justin rolled his eyes.

"You didn't?"

"You don't have to sound so disappointed."

"Well, if you didn't get laid, then what?"

"I was out... on reconnaissance."

"Huh?"

"I was at Babylon."

"Oh." Daphne's response was flat.

Justin gave her an annoyed stare.

"Look Justin, I'm not going to tell you how to live your life, but what do you really know about this Brian Kinney beside he's a good lay? And really, it was like four… no five years ago at that. Do you think that maybe – just maybe, go with me here – you've built him up in your mind to be this major sex god. Think about it. You were young, not all that experienced…"

"Excuse me!"

"Oh c'mon, you were 24 when you met him – for one night! How do you know he was that good. Maybe, you know, you weren't that good and he just seemed really good."

Justin gave a low laugh, "Fuck you!"

Daphne smiled, then broke out in a laugh, "You weren't that good the time we did it!"

"Double fuck you! I'll have you know that I've had plenty of experience, and you can't judge how good I am in bed with men based on our pitiful playing doctor when we were in high school. Besides, it was both our first times, you aren't my type, and we both knew what we were getting ourselves into." Justin's smile belied his insult.

"Okay, okay! I relent – apples and oranges! I'm sure you’re a marvelous fuck now."

Justin blew on the knuckles of his fist and polished them on his chest. "Yes, I am. And I give a fabulous blow job."

"Really? ’Cause I could use some pointers… I have this trouble swallowing, my gag reflex…"

"Daph!"

"Too much information?"

"I don't want to think about it – ewww! I do not need that image in my mind next time I'm giving a blow job!"

"How did we end up on this subject anyway?"

"You were telling me that Brian Kinney was not the fabulous fuck I had extolled him to be."

"Well, really, I mean how could you know? It's been five years. He was older then, the guy's got to be in his forties by now. I mean, don't they sell Viagra to men that age?"

"Well, by what I witnessed last night, if he's using Viagra, it's doing its job."

"You slept with him?"

"What? No." Justin shook his head. "I watched him in the back room at Babylon. He fucked two guys, and three other guys gave him blow jobs, and that was like within five hours."

"Fuck! Do you think he has a twin, because, like, I haven't been able to get a guy to perform like that…"

"Daph, too much information! New topic, no sex."

"Well, that doesn't leave much. How are things with your mom and Tucker?"

"Daphne!"

They chatted aimlessly, devoured the pizza and salad, then watched a movie. 

After cleaning up the kitchen, Daphne was getting ready to head home. "Seriously Justin, you can't go stalking this guy."

"I'm not stalking him."

Daphne gave him a look. "Five hours staking out the back room of Babylon?"

"I didn't spend the entire night in the backroom, only when he was there… okay, okay, maybe I'm stalking him… a little," Justin qualified, "but I have a plan, and it's all starting to come together."

"What? You couldn't have told me this earlier?"

Justin pushed Daphne toward the studio door, "You would have tried to talk me out of it." He turned the knob and held the door open for her.

Daphne shook her head, but reached up and gave him a hug. "Professional help. Get help, Justin – you need it."

Justin smiled and laughed. "I may be crazy, but I'm having fun… remember fun, Daph? You should try it sometime."


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  _Cattleya Orchid –Mature Charm, Lust, Greed, Wealth, Virility_

The Orchid blossoms were a stunning purple, but no less stunning than the container that held them. Aged copper, green and rusty orange, beaten and formed into a cube, bold welds adding to its design. The sides were uneven and the metal jagged and twisted, peering through the leaves of the plant and the moss that hid the orchid's tuberous roots. Again, the form that held the flowers was beautiful, perhaps not so much violent this time, but hardened and showing strength. While Brian could admire the beauty of the Orchid, it was the vessel that took his breath away. 

Brian covertly scanned his empty office before lifting the plant and looking at the bottom of the container. JT in bold lettering was etched across the bottom expanse, the date only two days ago.

Whoever was sending these gifts had expensive taste, and a hard-on for Justin Taylor art. Brian pondered the signature on the bottom of the copper container. He carried the Orchid to his desk, and rummaged through his brief case, finally coming up with the vellum envelope from the previous week. Brian looked at the envelope, then pulled out the page inside. The scrawl could be the same, but damn, there was no duplication of letters to compare it to.

Brian leaned over the desk and enacted the speakerphone. "Cynthia!"

"You bellowed?"

Brian looked up, Cynthia was leaning in his doorway. _How does she do that?_ "Did an envelope come with this Orchid?"

Cynthia shook her head. "The delivery person said he was instructed to put the Orchid in the pot and drop it off. He did leave care instructions, and there was a contract for their services for five years…"

"What the fuck for?"

"The orchid is from Orchid Minders." At Brian's puzzled look, Cynthia continued, "You know, they take care of your orchids for you – feeding, water and such – and when the plant goes dormant you send it to Orchid Minders and they take care of it until it blooms again. Sort of like summer camp for Orchids."

"You're kidding." Brian stared at Cynthia, dumbfounded. Cynthia shook her head. "You're not. There can't be money in that, can there?"

"There's a waiting list to get a spot on their roster."

"You're shitting me!"

"They charge a fortune. But I understand they have some of the most award winning orchid stock in the country, maybe the world."

"How do you know this shit?"

"Remember Baudouin?"

"That pretentious Gallic snob you used to date?"

Cynthia sneered at Brian. "That's the pot calling the kettle black."

"I am not pretentious, nor French, and I'm not a pot."

"Good thing you qualified that."

"So what does this have to do with Band-aid?"

"Baudouin!" she laughed, then sighed. "One of his annoying habits was that he was forever going on about how his orchids were better than John Shester's orchids. That Shester's orchids were inferior stock…"

Brian rubbed his eyeballs with his thumb and forefinger. "Cynthia! The point please, I'm getting a headache."

"Orchid Minders is owned by John Shester. Shester beat out Baudouin in the five categories he entered in the regional flower show a couple of years ago, and then went on to win at the international orchid show in London. The orchid you have there," she pointed to the desk. "My guess is that it is worth a couple of thousand dollars. And who knows how much the pot is worth. On a totally different subject, are you going to sit in on the meeting this afternoon with Granny?"

"Fuck no!"

"Well, Caryn is coming with her to make introductions, you may want to re-think your strategy."

"Fuck!"

"And maybe clean up your language a bit before they arrive."

"F-f-f-udge."

Cynthia burst out laughing.

Brian thought a moment. "How about you bring them in here and we make nice introductions, and I'll arrange for Gail to buzz me and excuse myself. You can move them into the conference room, and everything will be nice." He hissed the "c" in "nice".

~>~>~>~>

A couple hours later Cynthia knocked on Brian's office door and popped her head in. "Are you ready for us?" 

Brian was wrapping up a call, but waived the women in. He gestured to the sofa, and Cynthia seated the women. 

Not really paying attention, Brian ignored the gushing noises being made over the Orchid on the table. The Gloxinia had been moved to a neutral placement on the conference room table.

Brian joined the group as Gail brought in coffee and served everyone around. He noted the elegant older woman in a classic Channel suit. _Flowers must pay better than I thought. Perhaps the old bird will be able to pay Kinnetik's going rate._

"Brian and Cynthia, I'd like to introduce my grandmother, Helen Krohnel." Brian stood to shake hands, wondering why that name seemed familiar – like he'd seen it somewhere recently. He'd been going over the top 50 internet retailers before the meeting – seeing where there might be opportunity for Kinnetik. _Oh for fucks sake!_

"Helen, a pleasure to meet you. Kinnetik is at your disposal. How may we help 1-800-Flowers?"

Cynthia hid a gasp behind a sip of coffee. She'd broken the cardinal rule and hadn't researched her client before the meeting. The way Brian had spoke, Helen Krohnel was a doddering little old lady dabbling in flowers. _Holy shit!_

"Well, Brian, my granddaughter speaks very highly of you, though you do seem to have a bit of an unorthodox history. I wasn't sure that Kinnetik would be a good match for us, but after my granddaughter raved about your gloxinia, I thought it might be worth taking a meeting. Where is the gloxinia, by the way?"

"It's in the conference room," Cynthia stood up ready to move the meeting into the adjacent area. "Right this way."

Helen sat down, all the while clucking. "Magnificent – just as the orchid. Did you select them yourself?"

Brian bit back his near automatic response of _not fucking likely_ , "No ma'am. It was a gift."

Cynthia chimed in, "It appears Brian has a secret admirer. The flowers keep coming, but without a name."

Helen chuckled, but said no more.

Cynthia launched into an overview of the services Kinnetik offered and interviewed Helen as to her preferences and goals, finding out the challenges she faced.

"… well, my granddaughter tells me Eyeconics has been a long-time satisfied customer, seeing steady gains in all markets. The last few years have been hard on the floral industry. Between 1-800-Flowers and FTD we hold the lion's share of the business, but that share is shrinking. People haven't had discretionary income, local supermarkets are competing head on with florists, gift givers have many options with the ability to order anything online. And probably the most difficult issue is customers are bypassing us, hoping to cut costs, and ordering from unreliable and often ghost online operations posing as local retailers."

"We need to rebuild confidence in the consumer and make 1-800-Flowers the destination for ordering flowers." Helen paused and looked directly into Brian's eyes. "Normally, I'd have second thoughts about trusting my company to an outfit with your record of going outside the lines. But between Caryn, and my total disgust for the last Madison Avenue conglomerate I dealt with, I'm ready to try something new. Wow me!"

Brian let a sardonic grin pull at one side of his mouth. "Helen, I'd like Cynthia to spend some time at your operation – get to know your business better. She is the most senior of Kinnetik's account executives – and she has a far greater appreciation for flowers, than I do, I am ashamed to admit. Gail can work out a schedule with your assistant and Cynthia can begin work immediately. When she has completed her research, I will work with her personally to make sure Kinnetik not only gives you something other than the pabulum they like to feed you on Madison Avenue, but a new campaign to reflect new times and a new client base.

Cynthia wrapped up the meeting.

Brian escorted the women out to the lobby. Before leaving, Helen turned to Brian. "You're not much of a fan of flowers, are you?"

"No ma'am, I can't say that I've ever been one to go the flowers and candy route. But that doesn't mean that Kinnetik can't do an exception job for you and your company."

Helen chuckled. "I have no doubt you will come through. Remind me sometime to tell you about the language of flowers."

Helen and Caryn waved as they exited to the parking lot.

Brian looked at Cynthia, "What the fuck do you suppose she meant by that?"

Cynthia shrugged and followed him into his office.

Brian looked at the orchid on the coffee table, then typed in "language of flowers" into the search on his computer.

He scrolled down the page – Gloxinia - _Love at first sight_. "Fuck!" it was an epitaph breathed out. He scrolled down the page further, orchids, orchids, there had to be at least ten varieties and interpretations. "Fuck!" this time louder. He nodded at the orchid, speaking to Cynthia. "Exactly what type of orchid was that again?"

Cynthia gathered the orchid from the table and set it on Brian's desk. She read the tag, "It says Cattleya Orchid"

_Mature Charm, Lust, Greed, Wealth, Virility_

Brian frowned and stared at his orchid. _Hmmm._ "Cynthia, bring me those instructions and that contract."

"Yes, oh master." Cynthia executed an As-Salamu Alaykum gesture, and backed out the door. 

She returned a few minutes later with the contract and care instructions. "You want me to call them for you?"

"No, thanks, I'll take care of it myself." Cynthia exited once again, closing the door behind her. 

Brian skimmed the documents. He picked up the phone and began to dial Orchid Minders, then hung up before dialing the last digit. He looked at the clock, a bit before five. He could drive over. 

He stuffed the paperwork into his briefcase, and grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair.

"Leaving a bit early?" Cynthia trilled out the jab as Brian made his way down the hall. 

Brian halted before turning the corner toward the front of the building, and gave a smirk. "It's good to be the boss."


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very short chapter. Next one is longer.

An electronic beep greeted Brian as he entered the storefront for Orchid Minders. It had taken him longer than he thought to get across town. Orchid Minders was located on the outskirts, just north of Pittsburgh. There was a modest brick house on the property, probably built in the early part of the last century. The storefront appeared to be little more than a wooden shack fronting two large greenhouse structures. 

As he entered, Brian was assaulted with warm, humid air and an interesting clean, moist smell of something he couldn't identify. The little store had a minute customer waiting area; most of the room was taken up with differing sized pots and planters stacked floor to ceiling. To one side was a register, and the other was a work area for potting plants, Brian supposed. An open doorway led back to the greenhouse area, and Brian could see row upon row of table tops filled with orchids in varying stages of growth and bloom.

Brian was looking around the store when a man in a wifebeater and jeans appeared. The man had curly black hair and well defined muscles, which his shirt did little to hide. He gave Brian an appraising glance as he moved to the store's door and flipped the sign from open to closed.

Brian raised an eyebrow at him.

"I had meant to do that earlier. We don't get a lot of customers during the week. Not usually a problem."

"I only have a few questions, then I can leave."

The man gave Brian another glance. "No… stay as long as you want. We aim to ensure are customers are thoroughly satisfied… Mr. Kinney." The man fell to his knees and reached for Brian's belt. 

Brian leaned back against the counter, "You appear to fully understand the hands-on approach to customer service."

The trick looked up at Brian with a smile, before leaning forward and swallowing.

~>~>~>

Brian left Orchid Minders nominally satisfied. He accomplished all he had set out to do, as well as getting a bit of tension relief. 

Marco had been most helpful; he had pulled the order for Brian's orchid and gave him more details than Brian was sure were written down.

The order had come in earlier in the week from JT Designs. The owner of JT Designs had been very specific, he wanted a Cattleya Orchid in a deep, rich purple. He'd sent over some shaggy, blond, errand boy with his credit card (and a fabulous ass, according to Marco). The errand boy had waited to see the orchid in the container before signing for his boss and leaving.

JT Designs, located in the trendy Strip District, in northeast Pittsburgh was not that far from Kinnetik. Brian glanced at the dashboard. 6:35pm. He didn't have time to check out JT Design today. He'd leave it for the weekend to explore.


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He's so skinny!" Daphne thumbed through the photos on Justin's iPhone. "And he looks old!"

"He's perfect." Justin yanked the iPhone from Daphne's hand. 

Daphne made a grab to regain the phone, but Justin held it out of her reach. "I wasn't finished looking at the pictures of your _perfect_ man."

"If you can't be polite about it; we can talk about something else."

"Sorry, sorry – yeesh! You're touchy!" Daphne grabbed the phone away from him and started scrolling through the pictures once again. "It's so dark, where'd you take these anyway."

"Babylon – you know that club I've been talking about?"

"Wow, I guess these are pretty good given how dark most clubs are."

"Yeah. I found out why he's there a lot of the time."

"Why? Mr. Perfect Fuck is an over the hill club boy?"

Justin gave Daphne a shove and she tumbled off the arm of the futon frame onto a pillow on the floor. "He is _**NOT**_ , an over the hill club boy!"

"Justin, he's got to be like forty-something. He's hanging out in clubs with guys twenty years younger than him…"

"He owns the damn club!"

Daphne started laughing. "He owns Kinnetik, _**and**_ he owns Babylon?"

"I fail to see what you think is so funny!"

By now Daphne was laughing so hard she'd started hiccupping. "Only you would find _**hic!**_ , the perfect man _**hic!**_ , pine after him for years, stalk him down, and _**hic!**_ he turns out to be a sugar daddy! At least he'll be able to keep you in the comfort to which you are accustomed. Go! Grab him now while you still have your looks!"

"Fuck you!"

~>~>~>

Justin settled onto ground under a huge Oak Tree near Flagstaff Hill in Schenley Park. It was a good place to people watch; many were playing Frisbee, catch or kicking soccer balls around. The sun was bright, belying the cool temperature of the day. Justin was doing some light sketching, nothing major or important, just enjoying the feel of the charcoal in his fingers and the heavy paper. Sometimes it was nice to just draw with no purpose in mind.

 _ **THUMP!**_ A soccer ball passed by Justin's ear at close range hitting the trunk of the oak tree and ricocheting back along the grass, landing beside Justin.

"Hey mister!" A lanky near teen with auburn hair came running up and scooped up the ball. 

"Gus, tell the man you’re sorry." 

Justin made a visor with his hand so to cut the glare from the sun and see the source of the disembodied, smooth baritone voice.

The boy looked down at Justin and his drawing. "I'm sorry, mister. Hey! What are you drawing?" 

"Gus. Leave the man alone." The smooth voice was closer now. Justin looked up into the eyes of Brian Kinney. For a moment he was stunned. He hoped desperately that his surprise didn't show.

"No, it's all right." Justin held up the drawing for the boy.

"Wow! You're good! You should meet my mom! She runs an art gallery downtown. I bet you could get her to put you in her gallery."

Justin chuckled at the idea of this junior art critic. He smiled at the boy, studiously avoiding Brian Kinney. Who was he? The boy's uncle? There sure was a family resemblance. This couldn't be the boy with the tonsillectomy. Could it?

"Gus, extend your apologies, and let's go, I'm sure that your friend would like to get back to enjoying some peace and quiet." Brian gave Justin no more than a cursory glance. He was entirely focused on Gus.

"But, Dad! He's really good!"

 _Dad? Really?_ From everything Justin had been able to gather, he was sure that Brian Kinney was not a closet case… unless, he wasn't out to his son. Surely, he wasn't married.

"That's okay, your son isn't bothering me."

Gus settled down next to Justin. "Got any other pictures? Can I see more?"

Justin looked up at Brian who shrugged, and sat down on the opposite side of Gus. "May as well."

Justin handed over the pad to Gus, who immediately started paging through the sketches. Too late, Justin remembered there were sketches of Brian in the tablet. He'd started the afternoon sketching the man from memory.

"Wow, Dad, there's even some of you in here."

That pronouncement caused Brian to give the artist a sharp look. Whereas before he hadn't bothered, now Brian took in every measure of the man who his son had befriended, ending at his eyes.

The artist's eyes were clear, cerulean blue, and stared back at Brian.

"Dad! Look!"

Brian looked down at the sketchpad, his features popped off the page at himself. The talent and detail were obvious.

"That's very good." Brian commented begrudgingly. He stuck his tongue in his cheek. "Good attention to detail. Amazing, considering the distance from here to where we were tossing the ball."

"Uh, I have really good vision." Justin wetted his lips, then bit them. _Really good vision, Justin? How lame did that sound?_

"Mmm-hmmm, I don't think superheroes have such visual powers." Brian watched as Justin turned pink, then red.

Gus looked up at Justin. "This one's really good – Dad looks like that when he's thinking about a new ad campaign. Can I have it?" It was a drawing of Brian, his gaze intense.

"Gus, it isn't polite to ask such things."

"Oh! Sorry." Gus tried to look contrite, but couldn't quite pull it off. He looked over at Justin. "It's just that it's really good – and I don't have a whole lot of pictures of my dad. He doesn't like people to take his picture."

Justin tried to sneak a peak beyond Gus to his father. The same intent stare on the page was now brought to life on Brian Kinney's face. Justin quickly looked away.

"Hey!" Gus brought Justin's attention back to the boy. "What's your name?"

Happy to have some relief from Brian's scrutiny, Justin gladly engaged with Gus. "My name? Justin. And you are?"

"Gus," Gus extended his hand for a shake. "Gus Kinney!"

Justin took the hand and gave it a proper shake. "Nice to meet you, Gus Kinney."

"Gus…"

Gus appeared to sulk a little. "Gus Peterson-Marcus…"

"That's better."

"Kinney!" Gus ended with a smile.

"Gu-us!" Gus grinned up at his dad, then turned to Justin.

Gus kept hold of Justin's hand and shook it again. "Nice to meet you Justin… Justin… uh, Justin what?"

"Taylor. Justin Taylor."

 _Bingo!_ Brian once again studied the artist, rather the _artiste_.

"Nice to meet you, Justin Taylor. And this is my Dad – Brian Kinney." Gus dropped Justin's hand, so Justin extended his hand to the boy's father.

Brian took it watchfully. "Nice to meet you, Brian Kinney."

Brian gave an upward nod. "Yeah, the same."

The two men studied one another frankly as Gus went through the rest of Justin's sketchbook. "Hey Justin, thanks for letting me look at your sketches. You're really good. You don't have to give me that drawing I asked for. Dad's right; it isn't polite to ask such things. It's just I don't have a lot of pictures of my dad, and yours was really good."

Justin smiled at the boy. "You know, there's no one else I'd rather give it to than to someone who would obviously appreciate it. Here, let me sign it." Justin flipped to the sketch of Brian, then, with bold strokes, signed the sketch with an obvious "JT" followed by the date.

 

"Wow! Thanks!" Gus examined the picture. Then carefully, he handed it over to Brian, "Here. Keep it safe, Dad!" Gus jumped up, gathered up his ball and fled to the field.

"Justin… Taylor… Have we met? I feel like I know you."

"I don't seem to remember meeting you recently – I've only been back in Pittsburgh for a few weeks now." Justin didn't deliberately lie, but it wasn't like he was going to confess to stalking Brian.

"I have a few of your paintings."

"Really?" Justin gave a wide smile – he wondered what a _few_ consisted of – more than two, less than seven? 

"Yes, early works. I understand your current work is… quite… an investment."

"Is that your way of saying it costs a lot and you're cheap?"

"Cheap? Never. But, yes, the ones I own are a few years old and yes, your current work would be more of an investment to purchase at this date. But I've received a few gifts of late."

Justin sat up suddenly and looked at his watch. "Well, it was nice meeting you, Brian. I hadn't realized the hour had gotten so late. I really must be going." He stood up and brushed off his pants.

Brian watched as Justin leaned over to dust off his ass, his shaggy blond hair falling over his face as he attempted to remove any dirt that had lodged on his trousers. _Shaggy blond hair._ _Great ass._ That was no errand boy at Orchid Minders, that was Justin. _Just what the fuck was going on?_

Justin packed his sketchbook into a courier bag and straightened, extending his hand. "Well, it was good to meet you, Brian. Gus is a great kid."

Brian grasped Justin's hand, and held it. "Yes, it was nice to meet you and Gus is a great kid. You never did say what brought you to Pittsburgh. Are you traveling through? Do you have a gallery showing? Working on a commission?"

Justin tried to extract his hand, but Brian held fast. Justin swallowed. "N-oo." Justin's voice cracked; he cleared his throat. "No," he enunciated clearly. "I live here – in Pittsburgh. I'm from here originally."

"Really." Brian raised his eyebrows slightly and gazed at Justin. His hand held fast.

"I, uh, have a studio. In the Strip District."

"Trendy."

"Well, I'd been thinking about opening up a gallery. Some space became available. Mixed use – Residential, Studio, Retail. I bought a building earlier this year. It works for me."

"Hmmm, I'd like to see it. Perhaps I'll stop by sometime soon."

"Uh, well, sure – I guess."

"Justin! Justin!" Gus had returned dragging a blonde woman by the arm. A compact brunette trailed behind. 

Gus stopped before Brian and Justin. Brian released Justin's hand.

"Justin, this is my mom – you know the one who works at the gallery, I was telling you about her."

Justin smiled, "The one who works at the gallery? Do you have another mom who doesn't work at the gallery?" Justin could have sworn he heard Brian mumble _"you just had to ask"_ under his breath.

"Well, sure." Gus grabbed the brunette's arm. "My other mom's a lawyer. Moms this is Justin – Justin, these are my moms Lindsay Peterson and Melanie Marcus!"

Justin stepped forward to shake their hands. His head was reeling. Gus had two moms, Brian was his dad, and by earlier accounts, three last names.

"Right on time," Brian pronounced. He gave Gus one armed hug and a couple of taps of his fist to Gus'. "I'll see you Wednesday, Sonny Boy." And with that, he headed toward the park path and quickly disappeared around a curve leaving Justin to Gus and his two moms.

"Asshole."

"Melanie!" Lindsay admonished. 

"Here, Mom, you hold onto this, I want to practice a little more." Gus handed Lindsay his prized sketch, then headed out to the field where he quickly found another boy to practice kicking the soccer ball with.

"Uh…" Justin just didn't know what to say.

Lindsay smiled prettily; Melanie regarded him with less enthusiasm. 

"He promised he wouldn't bring tricks around Gus!"

"Melanie!"

"Tricks?"

"Look," Melanie moved forward on Justin. "I don't know what he told you, but he's an asshole. Don't expect to hear from him again. Don't think you're getting involved with our family. Don't talk to Gus."

"Melanie!"

 _Wow! No wonder Brian had left. If I was him, I'd head for the hills, too._ But Justin had been around a few bitches in his life; the New York art scene was full of them. He wasn't about to let this one push him around. 

"I'm afraid you're mistaken Ms. Marcus. I'm not a trick, and until a few minutes ago, I hadn't been introduced to either Mr. Kinney or your son." Well, it wasn't a total lie, even if it wasn't the total truth.

"Justin, was it?" Lindsay stepped forward. "I want to apologize. We're never quite sure what Brian might be up to."

"Yeah, sorry." Melanie had the decency to look a little chagrined. It was a start.

"Well, I was just leaving when Gus brought you over. So I'll head off now – nice to have met you. Please say goodbye to Gus for me." Justin walked casually, but purposely, toward the path where Brian had disappeared. He was happy to put some distance between himself and the women.

"That was odd." Melanie pronounced, watching Justin disappear down the path.

"Oh my!" Lindsay's exclamation had Melanie turning to face her partner.

"What?"

"Justin – he did this sketch."

"Yeah, so?" Melanie looked at the sketch of Brian. She supposed it was pretty good.

Lindsay pointed to the signature. "Justin Taylor sketched this."

"Is that his last name?"

Lindsay looked at Melanie like she'd sprouted two heads. "Justin Taylor, he's one of the most respected new artists of the last ten years. I wonder what he's doing here in Pittsburgh. Gus' sketch is probably worth a thousand dollars."

"No shit!"

"Mom! You aren't supposed to say that word." Gus had walked up to his moms while they were engrossed in Justin's sketch. "Pretty cool picture of Dad, huh? Can we go home now? I'm hungry."

Melanie laughed and ruffled her son's hair. "Sure, we have to pick up Jenny Rebecca soon from her friend's birthday party."

"Cool! Maybe there'll be leftover cake!" Gus ran off in the direction of the parking lot.

Lindsay laid her head on Melanie's shoulder. "Did we ever have that much energy?"

Melanie gave her lover a kiss on her temple. "Yeah, but it's been a while."


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  _Camellias pink & red – Longing for you, You're a flame in my heart_   
>  _Carnations pink, red & purple – I'll never forget you, My heart aches for you, Capriciousness_   
>  _Gardenias – Secret Love_

"I think that you're losing your touch," Cynthia declared as she sat a stunning glass vase on Brian's desk. The vase was heavy and thick, but absolutely crystal clear with no cloudiness or scratches. Flecks of what appeared to be actual gold were suspended weightlessly in the vase's base and along the thick walls that tapered up and twisted.

"How so? The vase is exquisite." Brian responded, admiring this week's beautiful handiwork.

"Carnations? Kind of a let down after the orchid."

"I don't know, they're kind of amusing, a little kitsch, perhaps. Besides, they seem to work with the gardenias and the camellias, in a way."

Brian went back to admiring the vase sure it would once again be a Justin Taylor original. _What was Taylor's game?_

"No note?" he asked, already knowing the answer. He looked at the pink, red, purple and white blooms. There was a heady fragrance and spicy aroma. The carnations' scent cut the cloying perfume of the gardenias, which might otherwise have been overwhelming. Though carnations wouldn't have been his first choice, he couldn't fault the combination, the tall spindly stems and fluffy blooms contrasted nicely with the more tree-like stems of the camellias and gardenias. Cynthia was right though, who in this day and age of inexpensive and bountiful roses would send carnations? Perhaps…

Brian turned and tapped the flowers' names one by one into the search box on his computer.  
 __  
Longing for you  
You're a flame in my heart  
I'll never forget you  
My heart aches for you  
Capriciousness  
 **Secret Love**

 _What the fuck?_ Actually, that last one wasn't a search result, but it certainly summed up how Brian was feeling.

What kind of game was Taylor playing?

Cynthia shook her head. Then, realizing Brian wasn't paying her any attention, she confirmed "No note." She left him to his musings, shutting the door quietly. There was something definitely going on with her boss. What? She wasn't sure, but there was something definitely there.


	8. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian checked the paper in his hand. This was the right address. 

There was a van in front of the building with workman unloading equipment. The door to the building was propped open with a cinder block.

It had been almost two weeks since Brian's encounter in the park with Justin. This last week had been suspiciously devoid of flowers. Brian hadn't thought much of it until yesterday when Cynthia made a catty remark. Then, last night Lindsay started in on him about Justin when Brian had stopped by to drop off Gus after their weekly Wednesday visit.

Brian entered the building; workmen were demolishing walls and kicking up dust.

"Hey man, you looking for Justin?" One of the workman nearby called out to him.

Brian gave a short nod.

"He's up on third in his studio."

Brian headed to the stairs.

"Take the elevator," the workman called out. "The stairs aren't clear; wouldn't want you to mess your suit."

Brian nodded gratefully. His suit would go to the cleaners regardless, but he didn't need extra dirt in his prized Corvette.

~>~>~>

Justin heard the elevator stop. Hopefully that was Fedex with his canvas and frame supplies. He'd be glad when he got some help – he could pass off such tasks to them. Justin had arranged for a couple of students from his alma mater to assist this week as things were getting into order. If the two PIFA students worked out, he'd offer them an internship for the upcoming summer.

Justin put his brushes in turpentine to soak and washed his hands before going to the door.

Brian's hand was poised to knock on the door when it opened. Both men were surprised to see the other.

"Oh!" Justin instinctively gasped.

"Hey," Brian tried to drop his knocking hand inconspicuously.

_Think fast, Justin!_ "Mr. Kinney, what a surprise." If Daphne had been here, she'd roll her eyes and shove him. As it was, Justin was hoping the demolition crew would knock a hole in the ceiling below so he could fall through and escape.

"Hmmm, I’d have thought you’d be expecting me by now." 

"Huh?" _Smooth, Scooby Doo, you idiot!_

Brian gave Justin a sly smile. "After all, it appears I've missed my weekly floral delivery."

_Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit_ "Uh," Justin tried to think up an answer, but his brain had entirely shut down. He gave up.

"That all you have to say? Why not invite me in? After all, I've become a great fan of your art of late – in all its various mediums."

Justin pulled himself together, and ushered Brian into the studio. He closed the door behind Brian, more to block the sounds coming from below then anything else. Justin was sure Daphne would get a good laugh out of this situation later when – no, if – he told her. Shit, he'd never really thought about where this game of cat and mouse would end – _what was Brian Kinney doing here?_

Brian was making a slow turn of the studio; the room was cavernous. Justin's temporary living quarters were off to the back on one side, otherwise the space was broad and open.

Brian calmly walked the expanse of the studio, stopping to admire the unframed canvases that were leaning up against the wall on display. A storage frame had been constructed; several oversized canvases measuring in excess of six feet tall were filed within the framework. Brian itched to see them. 

After completing his rounds, Brian circled back to the living area and plopped down on the futon sofa. Kicking off his Gucci loafers, he propped his feet on the coffee table.

"So, honey, what's for dinner?"

Dumbfounded, Justin stared at him.

"Oh come now, surely you knew I’d have figured it out by now?" Brian's bold statement belied his confidence. In fact, he'd only put all the pieces together in the last 24 hours. "Where exactly did we meet?"

"Schenley Park by…" Justin began only to be cut off.

"Don't be insulting. No, I mean the first time. It took me a while to pull it all together. If it hadn't been for the security footage from Babylon I probably would have written off our chance encounter at the park. But nothing is chance with you, is it?"

Justin was confused. Brian appeared calm, cool, and collected – not a care in the world. But Justin was sure the man was pissed off beyond reason. He had to hand it to Brian, the man kept a tight lid on his emotions.

Brian's eyes met Justin's and pinned the younger man to the spot where he stood. "Why are you stalking me?"

"I'm not stalking you!" Justin's denial didn't ring exactly true.

"No? My head of security at Babylon has a different theory. In fact, he has nearly a month of tapes where a suspicious blond appears to be following me. And let's not forget my new collection of Justin Taylor sculpture and vases."

"Fuck!" Justin breathed the expletive out nearly silently.

"So I ask you again, Mr. Taylor, where was it that we first met? And what do you expect to get out of this game you've started?"

Justin felt his whole world spinning, literally. One minute he was in a staring contest with Brian, the next he was lying on the floor trying to figure out how he'd gotten there.

Brian was crouched over Justin, gently tapping his cheeks, trying to get him to come to. "Fuck! Are you all right? I didn't mean to scare you – well, I guess I did, but I'm trying to make sense of this whole weird thing."

"I'm not a stalker!" Justin implored.

At Brian's look of less than belief, Justin amended, "I mean, I guess… I'm not dangerous. I'm not going to pull out a gun and shoot you or anything."

"What about Gus?"

"What about Gus?" Justin was confused by the question, then it dawned on him Brian was worried for Gus' safety. "Oh! No! No, I'd never hurt your son… or you. I guess I wanted to make some grand gesture. Just forget it; it was just some ridiculously romantic notion I dreamed up. It's all gotten out of hand. The meeting in the park was pure coincidence – well, you knew that. I was there before you even showed up."

"I don't know what to think." Brian plopped back down on the futon couch, lay back and rubbed at closed his eyes.

Justin leaned up on his elbows, and watched Brian. "It wasn't supposed to be like this."

Brian opened one eye and looked at Justin reclined on the floor. "What was it supposed to be like?"

"I don’t know, I kind of had it in my mind that we'd meet, go out some place nice for a meal. Talk."

"I don't do dates, and conversation is highly overrated."

"How do you get to know someone otherwise?"

"I don't – you have first-hand knowledge based on your little stalk-a-thon at Babylon."

"That's not getting to know someone. That's sex."

"Exactly. In and out with the maximum of pleasure and the minimum of bullshit. It's efficient, both parties are satisfied." 

Justin pushed himself up off the floor. He toed off his sneakers before sitting down on the opposite end of the couch from Brian. He pulled up his knees and looped his arms around them. "But how do you get to know someone? How do you form a relationship?"

"I don't."

"Haven't you ever been in love?"

"No." The answer was flat.

"That's sad."

"And yet I've managed to live just fine."

"Don't you want someone to share your life with?"

"Don't tell me… you dream of being a stepford fag in a cozy little cottage with a picket fence. Christ! Save me from the fag hetero dream."

"No." Justin gestured to the space surrounding them. "I don't think of myself as the hearth and home type. But I do want to build a life with someone, have someone to share my day with, someone to grow old with."

"Don’t say that word."

"Huh? What word? Old?"

Brian cringed.

"Well, it’s not like we can be young and beautiful forever."

"Bite your tongue."

Justin watched Brian carefully. "You're afraid of growing old!" He said it with some mirth.

Brian narrowed his eyes at Justin, but failed to refute the accusation.

"But Brian, we're all growing older. You must be nearly 40 by now."

Brian smiled at that – perhaps the French anti-aging shit was working. Then he caught what Justin had said - _'by now'_.

"By now, huh? So we have met before – somewhere in my youthful past perhaps. Although given the fact you're barely out of diapers, and I generally am not into chicken, it couldn't have been that long ago."

Justin rolled his eyes. "I'm not as young as I look."

Brian sighed, "Unfortunately, none of us are. Regardless, I don't have time to waste playing any further games. We've met before – where? Here? I'm thinking it might have been somewhere else – security hasn't seen you before the last month at Babylon, and since that’s my hunting ground of choice…"

Justin wasn't sure he liked that – he could hear Daphne _"be careful what you wish for…"_

Justin brooded. He guessed he should know better than to have idolized their encounter. His god was turning out to have feet of clay.

Brian stretched out a leg and nudged Justin in the calf. "I'm right, aren't I? We did meet somewhere else, and a while back. Where? The white party in Miami?"

Justin let out dissatisfied grunt. This wasn't going at all like he had planned. They were supposed to lock eyes across a crowded room and be drawn to one another. They were supposed to slowly get to know one another over exotic meals, debate independent films in a cozy coffee shop. _Instead here we are, squared off at opposite ends of the couch._

With a burst of energy, Justin sprung off the sofa and crossed to the kitchen area. "Drink?"

Brian followed the movement. He responded with a slow, "sure."

"Beer?"

Brian nodded.

Justin went to the fridge and grabbed a couple of beers. With his church key he made short work of the bottle caps before crossing back to the sofa where Brian was reclining. He handed Brian his beer and took his station opposite.

Brian took a sip and watched Justin. It seemed that he wasn't going to find out where they met. So he changed tactics. "So what's with the lame ass flowers?"

Of course, Justin had just taken a fairly hefty pull off his bottle, Brian's question took him by surprise. The beer ended up going down the wrong pipe and Justin was sputtering, coughing and spitting out beer. His eyes teared up and his nose started to run. 

Brian started to laugh.

Justin grabbed some tissues from the table – doing his best to mop up the beer and himself with mediocre success. He glared at Brian.

"They weren't lame!"

"Oh no? _Longing for you_? How about _You’re a flame in my heart_?"

Justin blushed – maybe they were a little lame. "Well, it's not like there are flowers that say _You're fucking hot_ or _Sex with you is great, want to try it again?_!" 

Brian laughed, then went still. Justin watched as Brian turned on the futon sofa and planted his feet square on the hardwood floors. He stared at the bottle in his hand. "Brilliant, fucking brilliant!"

Justin was thoroughly confused.

Brian stood up. "I've got to go." 

He set his bottle on the coffee table and crossed to the studio door. He'd nearly made it there when he turned back. Justin was still on the couch trying to figure out what just happened. Brian strode to the couch, yanked Justin up onto his feet and proceeded to kiss the hell out of the startled blond.

Brian let go of Justin who tumbled to the couch, his knees shaky. Hell, his whole body was shaky. Brian moved to the door muttering "un-fucking-believable, sheer brilliance!" Opening the door, he let himself out, tossing a "later…" over his shoulder. Still shell-shocked, Justin was a total boneless lake of goo on the couch.


	9. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> _Chrysanthemum (yellow) -Slighted love_

Cynthia circled the conference room, studying each concept board meticulously. "They're… they're brilliant."

"My thought exactly."

Cynthia smirked and snorted a laugh.

"Did you just snort?"

"A lady never snorts."

Now it was Brian's turn to smirk and laugh. "And we all know you're not a lady."

"You must have worked all weekend on these and then rushed them through the art department."

"I take it you like them." Brian's comment was a statement. He defied anyone not to like them.

"They're going to pee in their pants."

"Please, Cynthia, a picture I can do without."

"Bri, I need you to sign these… Wow! Are these for the Flower account? They're gonna love them."

Brian nodded and took the forms Ted proffered. "A far better sentiment." He gave Cynthia a pointed look. He sat at the conference table to review the documents Ted had brought.

Ted followed Cynthia's path around the room. "Wow! I never really thought about sending Blake flowers, but… you know, maybe I'll pick some up on the way home."

"Wrong! Theodore." 

"Huh?"

"You'll go and order them online – from our newest client – like the rest of the world. Arrange to have them delivered here and you can take them home with you."

"Oh! Sure, sure. You finished with those?" Brian handed Ted the stack of documents, which he took and beat a hasty retreat.

"He does have a point." Cynthia sat down next to Brian at the coffee table.

"Theodore?"

"Yes. I love the concept, but how are you going to drive the traffic to 1-800, when they can still go to the grocery store or a florist they know."

"Simple, we're revising the arrangements and making them exclusive to the 1-800 affiliates. Eventually everyone will copy them, but 1-800 will be ahead of the curve, leading the pack. By the time we're done with them, consumers won't trust their money to anyone else."

"I understand where you're coming from, but how are you going to do that."

"We're going to find some new designers to rework the tired, old concepts of the bouquets currently offered. We're going to use less product, but greater design. The newer designs will provide a greater profit margin for both 1-800 and their affiliates and give them a makeover." Brian cringed, a vision of Emmett jumping up and down, clapping his hands and squealing flashed across his mind. 

"But…"

He shook it off the vision and held up his hand. "We'll keep the older, more traditional designs available on the website, and in the back of the affiliate catalogs, but the emphasis is going to be on the new designs and _The New Language of Flowers_."

Cynthia looked around the room once more, taking in the rich, bold colors. "They're going to shit."

"Must everything be a reference to bodily functions with you? You need to fucking clean up your language. Helen won't like it."

Cynthia rose from the table and headed out. "You're one to talk… Helen _loves_ me – and she'll love the concept. Do me a favor and send me the _You were Hot last night_ arrangement – I could use a boost." Her laughter trilled after her as she headed out of the conference room to the hallway beyond. 

"Send them yourself," Brian called after her. He stood back and looked at the ad panels that circled the room. "Hmmm, even better than I predicted. I am brilliant."

~.~.~.~.~.~.

And Brian was right, Helen Khornel and the entire team from 1-800-Flowers ate it up. They thought the new campaign was brilliant, and the ring leader of Kinnetik responsible for the campaign was no less brilliant himself.

Helen pulled Brian aside after the meeting broke up. "You know, young man, I'm very impressed with your crew here. Cynthia has been a delight to work with, and you've extended and expanded our client base. Change isn't easy for folks, but you've figured out a way for us to make this an easy sell this to our affiliates – many are struggling to keep their doors open, greater margin on these new designs, along with a new, fresh ad campaign is going to really help them out. But I didn't see the arrangement from the meeting table in proposal."

Brian chuckled, Justin had sent a new arrangement this morning. He hadn't seen the young man since he barreled out of Justin's studio the Friday night two weeks earlier. 

This morning an interesting arrangement arrived - yellow Chrysanthemum flower heads floating in a bowl. The shallow, almost flat bowl was unusual and hand made, of course, neither round nor oval, but something almost in between. It was made of rich, coppery brown, transparent glass with small, irregular pieces of peridot and citrine gemstones embedded in it.

"I'm afraid that arrangement might prove a bit expensive for your customers." Brian pulled the bowl toward Helen for closer inspection.

"Oh my!" She studied it closely. "It's stunning. But if my eye serves me right, you have some fences to mend with your jilted lover."

Brian gave a chuckle. "I suppose I do."

"But…" Helen looked more thoughtfully at the bowl and flowers. "We could still do a variation on this. We'd just have to find a supplier of a substitute bowl – a bit less ornate." She nodded then extended her hand. "Well, Brian, I am pleased to say you _Wowed me_. You exceeded my expectations, and I’m very happy we’ll be doing business together. I'm glad that we found you before FTD!"

Brian shook the older woman's hand. "A pleasure, Helen."

~.~.~.~.~.~.

Brian was at his desk when Cynthia presented herself and flopped into one of the chairs opposite. Brian looked up and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm glad that's done! They loved it."

"Did you have any doubt?"

"From Helen, no. But that sniveling sycophant Barrings always bothered me. I didn't like the way he'd follow me around when I visited the 1-800 offices."

"He's a gnat – I think Helen has had enough of him as well."

Cynthia gave a quick bark of laughter. "She did put him in his place. I wonder why she keeps him around?"

"Perhaps the same reason I keep you around? Was there something else? I am trying to work."

In a very unlady-like and totally un-Cynthia like manner, she stuck her tongue out at Brian, which caused him to laugh. "Go on, back to work!"

"Yes, oh master."


	10. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At 4pm Gail knocked on Brian's door.

"Come in."

She brought a large box with the 1-800 logo on the side to his desk. Too large to place on the desk, Brian indicated she should set it on the floor.

"This came from you, from Ms. Kholner." Gail handed him the card before retreating.

_"Dear Brian,  
I wanted to get you something to enjoy, but thought these might come in handy for your Chrysanthemum man. Magnificence and Haughtiness – something to remind him of you.  
Warmest Regards,  
Helen"_

Brian smiled at the note, it appeared that Helen had done her homework – or spoken to Cynthia. He opened the box. Tall stalks with beautiful blooms at the ends – Birds of Paradise and Sunflowers – there had to be at least two dozen blooms.

Brian leaned over and pressed the intercom button on his phone. "Gail, I'll be leaving for the day. Don't call me unless someone is dying. Ted or Cynthia can handle anything that comes up."

Brian was feeling in a decidedly generous mood as he gathered his box. He had a decidedly difficult time wedging the box into his Corvette, before finally propping it up against the passenger seat. He called ahead to his favorite Thai place and ordered, then swung by the local ABC store. He hated Pennsylvania's archaic alcohol selling practices, but it wasn't like they were about to change the rules for him – even if he was Brian Kinney, for fuck's sake.

His food was ready by the time he'd gotten to the Thai Restaurant, so he gathered it up and headed for the warehouse district. 

Brian parked across from the building. He looked a bit odd, juggling the bags of food and booze, and the oversized, awkward box as he crossed the street. It looked like the construction crew was still working on the building. The front door was propped open with the familiar cinder block and there was heavy cardboard sheeting taped to the floor. Luckily, the elevator was stopped on the ground floor with its door open and Brian made it inside before the large box slid down to the floor. He punched the button for the third floor and Justin's studio.

Loud music was playing as Brian approached the studio door. He thought about knocking but the door was ajar and there was no way his knock would be heard anyway. Pushing the door aside, he walked in and crossed to the kitchen section before dropping his bundles.

The room was empty, so Brian turned down the music to a reasonable level. He heard some shuffling coming from the bathroom.

A young man Brian had never seen before exited the bathroom. He looked like he'd just had a shower – hair wet, a shirt hung over his shoulder and he was buttoning his trousers. 

He nearly walked into Brian before he even noticed him.

"Whoa!" the young man's eyes traveled up and down Brian's lanky form. "Wow!" The young man gave him a rather blatant look of interest. "Uh… mmmm…"

Brian stared at the young man. _Fuck, he couldn't be a year or two older than Gus_ "I don't think so."

He shrugged his shoulders, "You're loss." But he wasn't giving up. He walked up to Brian, invading Brian's personal space and ran Brian's lapel between two fingers. "I always wanted me a sugar daddy."

There was a bark of laughter from across the room as Justin entered carrying some grocery bags. "Thomas! Leave Mr. Kinney alone – he won't realize you're playing with him."

"Hmmm, I definitely want to play with him." Thomas gave a huge queeny sigh. "Alas!" He pulled his shirt over his head.

Justin crossed to the kitchen area and deposited his bags. "I thought you were going to leave when you finished?" This Justin directed at Thomas.

"I decided to clean up – I'm supposed to meet some friends. I had some clean clothes in my backpack and it was faster to shower here than going back to the dorm." Thomas looked at Brian, "You know, I can call and tell them something's come up." His gaze dropped obviously to Brian's crotch. "They'd understand."

Brian perused the young man who was offering himself up. His eyes took a lazy tour of the youthful and a bit scrawny young man. He shook his head, "Sorry, you're not my type."

"Really?! I didn't think my gaydar was that off. Huh…" Thomas shrugged and picked up his backpack and headed out the door. 

"Making new conquests, Mr. Kinney?"

Brian shook his head and countered. "Into chicken, Mr. Taylor?"

Justin gave a broad smile and laughed. "Definitely not my type – too young, too wild. But a damn good assistant – he's a junior over at PIFA. He's one of two students I've got working for me."

Brian raised his eyebrows.

Justin shook his head. "They lug stuff around, help out around here. They get exposed…"

Brian's eyebrows rose higher.

"I mean they get an education…"

Brian stuck his tongue deep into his cheek.

"I mean, I take them in… I help them improve their form… their talents…" Justin was becoming flustered. "Oh fuck it! What is it with you? Is it always about sex?"

Brian chuckled. "But, of course."

Justin decided to take another tactic. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"I came to thank you for my flowers, and to share some with you courtesy of my newest account… which I have you to thank for helping me attain."

"Huh?" Justin looked at the counter, then at his bags "Argh! I've got to put this stuff away before it melts!"

Justin opened the freezer and started stocking it with pints of ice cream. 

Brian watched in amazement as no less than a dozen packages were arranged neatly in the drawer. "You think you got enough there?"

"There's no such thing as enough," Justin laughed as he closed the drawer.

"Something I often say myself, but generally not in reference to ice cream."

Justin went about putting his groceries away until he came to the Thai food and the bottle of Jim Bean and white wine. He looked up at Brian.

"I thought we might do a bit of celebrating. After all, you helped me gain an obscenely lucrative account."

"Really? What I do?" Justin went about getting plates and utensils, as well as a couple of tumblers, wine glasses and bottles of water from the fridge. He unpacked the Thai food and placed it on the counter before searching for a corkscrew.

Brian took the corkscrew from him and deftly opened and poured the wine. Handing Justin his glass, Brian clinked it with his own. "To the language of flowers!"

Justin smiled and took a sip. 

Brian nodded at the box, "and 1-800-Flowers! My latest account."

"Really?"

Brian leaned back on the counter. "Really."

"What's in the box?"

"Magnificence and Haughtiness!"

Justin put down his glass and opened the box. "Oh my god, they’re fabulous!"

"Spoken like a true queer. Yes, they're quite amazing. My newest account sent them to me to share with you."

"With me? What do they know about me?" 

"Well, it was your Orchid that caught their eye. Helen Krohnel , their CEO, was the one who told me that my anonymous admirer was sending me a greater message."

Justin blushed, and sputtered. "I… uh…"

Brian hand waived away any awkwardness Justin might feel. "When we sat here a couple of weeks ago, you said that it wasn't like there were flowers to say _you're a great fuck_ …"

"I don't remember saying that…"

"Whatever, the meaning was there. I was inspired. I looked up the Language of Flowers, updated it, and voile´ – another brilliant Kinnetik campaign! Since you were the inspiration, I thought we should celebrate. I don't suppose you have a vase these things will fit in?"

Justin smiled, "Well, now that you mention it, I did have something I was working on last week that is ready. It's downstairs – give me a few minutes, I'll go get it." Justin headed for the door and presumably downstairs before Brian could get a word out.

Brian made himself at home – poking around a bit. He found a hanger – plastic, not wood unfortunately – hung up his suit jacket and wound his tie around the hook. He unbuttoned the first few buttons on his shirt, then decided to serve the food.

Justin came back toting what appeared to be a bag made out of clay. The mouth of the vase looked like twisted paper, and it stood nearly two feet tall with a wide base. "I did this a while back. I finally did a glaze last week. I was thinking about doing some additional glazings and firings. I'm still not sure. But the color actually works with the flowers. I may just keep it."

Brian doled out food, while Justin filled the vase with the Birds of Paradise and Sunflowers. A few trips back and forth to the sink with a water jug and the vase had enough water for the flowers.

Brian handed Justin a plate and topped off his wine glass before heading to the only seating on the futon.

"Yum! This looks great. I'm still getting my bearings. All the restaurants I used to know are where I grew up or over near PIFA."

"This is Thai Palace – I think I helped put their kids through college."

They ate in companionable silence, sometimes commenting on nothing important.

"I didn't think I'd see you again." Justin stared down at his empty plate as he voiced his thought.

"Why's that?"

"Well, when you were here… you just… left."

"Surely you knew when I got the last round of flowers, I'd be back."

Justin smiled at that.

"So tell me, O slighted one, what can I do to make it up to you?"

Justin took Brian's plate from him. Then grabbed him by the hand and led him to the door. Justin pulled the door shut behind him before ushering Brian up a flight of stairs.

The stairs were clean and clear of construction debris so this must be an area of the building that was completed. A large wooden door on a pulley – similar to the one at Brian's loft – was opened. Without letting go of Brian's hand, Justin moved them to the bedroom.

Once inside Justin pulled Brian's head down to his and brushed his lips along Brian's. Brian smiled into the kiss, before snaking his tongue out to paint Justin's lips. Justin moaned in response and that was all Brian needed to deepen the kiss.

"You have five years of slighting to make up for..." 

Brian was confused by the statement, but that didn't stop him from pulling Justin tighter and devouring his mouth.


	11. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian stood bemused as Justin's nimble fingers made short work of the buttons on his shirt. As he reached for Brian's belt, his hands met Brian's.

"I think I can manage – you worry about yourself."

Justin grabbed at the back of his collar to pull his shirt over his head, while he toed off his shoes. He extracted himself from his jeans, as Brian dispensed with his suit's trousers.

For a moment, they stood at the foot of Justin's bed looking each other over. Justin drank in the sight of Brian, finally fully naked, as he'd been in their encounter all those years ago. He was as beautiful as Justin remembered. 

Brian wasn't exactly sure what was going through Justin's mind. He eyed Justin's crotch, _well, okay, he sort of knew_. But Brian was no longer some callow youth; he could wait for the younger man to make the first move.

Almost reverently, Justin reached out and placed his palm on Brian's chest, recoiling at the sudden heat before placing it back over Brian's heart. Dragging downward and across Brian's hip, Justin's fingers curled around Brian's slim waist and pulled their bodies together. Their legs entwined and cocks collided. 

Justin looked up at Brian with a lopsided grin, his eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Oh no, you don't. I believe I can take it from here." Brian hands came up to frame Justin's jaw as he lowered his head and captured Justin's lips cutting off any plans the younger man might have had mulling about his brain.

Brian was willing to be patient, but this wasn't a game. And he was no mood to play. There would be time for games – later. Now, it was time to get down to business. Serious business.

They moved to the bed, easily fitting together closely as hands and mouths moved over fevered flesh. Justin flashed back to a time five years ago, not so different from now. He stretched his neck, elongating it for Brian to lick and bite, then gently nuzzle and soothe. Justin reveled in the attention of each hand that stroked his arms, his legs, his chest. Fingers became urgent, teasing taut nipples, tweaking them tightly. Justin arched his back as his senses were heightened by the pleasure and pain. 

Rapidly, Justin's hands became impatient, clawing at Brian ass – pulling the other man closer, grinding their crotches together. His breath quickened in expectation of what was to come.

Justin let out growl of dissatisfaction as Brian lifted himself off of Justin, leaning to the side of the bed to search his trouser pockets for supplies. Unwilling to be ignored, Justin littered kisses down Brian's chest to his tight abdomen. Seeing Brian's erect cock, watching as the precum leaked from the head, Justin licked his lips and started to descend further.

"Wait."

_What the fuck?!_ Justin looked up at Brian, his face indicated he had every intention of disobeying the order.

"I'll make it worth your while."

Justin pursed his lips and, with one last regretful look at Brian's crotch, threw himself back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

Brian chuckled soundlessly as he coated his fingers with lube. He palmed Justin's balls eliciting a shiver, and slid his fingers down and further back along Justin's perineum to the soft wrinkled flesh beyond.

"Mmmmmmmmmuuuhhm"

The moan made Brian smile, he had been thinking the same thing. Justin felt so good, warm and tight. He was hard pressed to take it slow between the pull of Justin taking his fingers deeper within his body and the vocal affirmation of the rightness of what they were doing.

"Brian…" the soft murmur moved Brian into action. He quickly donned a condom and moved between Justin's legs. Justin braced his feet against the mattress and splayed his body, as Brian guided himself to Justin's offering. He went slowly, but steadily, sinking deeper with every sigh. When there was little more to go, Brian waited, astounded at the rightness of what he was feeling. He felt Justin's body loosen and accept his presence, welcoming what once was an intrusion, but now was completion. They lay there quietly marveling in the moment.

Soon Justin's knees moved close to Brian's body and urged him for the more he knew there was. Brian responded by leaning back, pulling away, before lodging home once more. The dance of lead and follow began; a gathering pace, climbing to a peak. Too soon, the smoothness of the journey moved to frenzy.

Glimmers of another time and place, with Justin, invaded and confused Brian's thoughts. Images bounced back and forth in his brain, moving from the present to flashes of the past, puzzling him as to what was real and what was not.

The clutch of Justin's hands on his arms, nails lightly scraping their way from elbow to wrist, pulled Brian to the present. His body took over as he felt Justin climax, and wet warmth pelted his chest and stomach. Still buried deep within Justin, the added pressure that surrounded him pushed him over the edge and he came with a force familiar and extraordinary.

Brian collapsed upon the slight form below him. He moved to shift his weight, but Justin held him tight and whispered. "Stay, please, at least for a few minutes."

Too tired and confused to respond, Brian nodded against Justin's chest. He felt fingertips gently soothe his cooling skin and the touch of lips against his forehead. 

Eventually, Brian's body relaxed and he was forced to move from Justin. A discontented groan echoed what Brian felt. He quickly removed and disposed of the condom before spooning up behind Justin. He was drifting off to sleep when he heard a phone ring.

_Gus!_ Brian bolted up straight as Justin reached to the bedside table his hand searching for the annoying object. Once found, Justin peered at the number displayed.

"Not important," he mumbled and sleepily burrowed back against Brian. 

Even breathing told Brian that Justin had drifted off to sleep, but he was more than alert. The flickering shards of memories so distracting as he and Justin mated now pulled together from all corners of his mind and formed a complete picture. 

_Gus. Lindsay. Tonsillectomy. A bed and a blond._ It all came crashing down, filling his brain with memories and miring his thoughts. Brian didn't know what was going on, what he was feeling. His emotions were confused, disturbing. What was the significance of Justin's presence in his life? Here. Today.

Brian slipped from the bed and donned his clothes. He made his way back down to the third floor studio, glad the door was closed but not locked. He gathered his suit jacket, keys, wallet and phone, and hastily left the building.

~>~>~>~>

_What was Justin playing at? It made no sense._ Brian stood naked and looked out over the Pittsburgh skyline from his loft window. A crystal tumbler with two very generous fingers of Jim Beam in one hand, and a joint in the other. Neither was going to make him see any clearer, but it offered hollow comfort as he tried to piece it all together.

The memories came crashing down on Brian's shoulders – a disrupted encounter in New York, and the disappointed blond he’d left behind. _What the fuck was going on? What happened tonight? What did it all mean?_

Brian finished his drink and took another toke. He breathed deep, holding the smoke in his lungs. 

"Fuck it." He wasn't getting any answers tonight.


	12. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  And here's how it happened.

_New York, five years earlier_

_It was midpoint in a week of meetings with New York clients. Brian had closed a lucrative deal and renewed an equally lucrative contract. He felt like celebrating._

_His return to Pittsburgh always had him regaling the gang with his New York adventures, but the truth was, there was little time for clubbing and anonymous sex when he needed to be in top form for meetings with clients. Owning a successful agency demanded that he work hard. The days of playing hard into the deep hours of the night were gone. Even owning Babylon hadn't afforded him the private playground everyone thought. Business was business._

_This day was a rare exception; his business concluded early, Brian returned to his hotel and changed. He decided a walk to clear his mind would help. The area around his hotel was safe, and he soon found himself walking along 17th street. The thumpa-thumpa from nearby club caught his attention. Even though it was mid-week, a crowd was waiting to get in the door. He nearly walked past, but turned at the last moment. A fuck it all attitude, and a twenty slipped to the bouncer, had the velvet rope pulled aside for him to enter._

_When did music start to get too loud? Brian mused. He made his way to one of the bars, ordered a drink, and commenced a survey of the club from a business owner's perspective, noting features that might be incorporated into Babylon._

_On the dance floor, bodies whirled and gyrated in time with the techno tempo. A glint of blond hair caught his attention. Eyes closed to the several dancing partners who surrounded him, the twink danced for all he was worth. Though it was obvious that several of the men encircling him would happily be his only partner, the blond was oblivious to their desire for greater access. The music dipped in tone and there was an announcement of the featured program for the evening._

_The blond’s movements slowed with the fading beat and he made his way from the floor to the bar where Brian was. His eyes took a leisurely inventory of the taller, older man. A faint smile pulled at his lips, as Brian offered to buy him a drink._

_Justin allowed the handsome stranger’s generosity. At $10 a shot for the good stuff – his glass had been filled with top shelf whiskey – it was a bit rich for Justin's starving artist budget. He'd been getting nowhere with the painting he had been working on. After a long phone conversation with his best friend in Pittsburgh, he'd take twenty bucks from his emergency stash and headed to Splash early before the Chelsea club started charging late night cover. He didn't know if the music would inspire him, but he knew that it certainly freed his mind and helped him work off some un-channeled energy._

_His drink companion was beautiful. Of course, all the men in the club were beautiful, but to his mind this one more so. Justin studied the dark stranger – a bit older than the twinks on the dance floor and a bit more aloof. Not from around here he concluded. The handsome man didn't have that look of wear and tear the city gave someone of his age. No fake tan, no weathered skin. Alcohol and drugs weren't evidenced in his eyes._

_"You’re not from around here." Justin's statement caused a smirk to pull the corner of the other man's lips._

_"Do tell."_

_"You’re different."_

_An eyebrow raised._

_"In a good way." Justin clarified._

_"hmmm"_

_Justin threw back the remainder of his shot. "Let's get out of here. Tonight's show is nothing special."_

_They left the club. Brian turned to head right, but the blond shook his head. He grabbed Brian's hand and pulled him left down the street._

_Neither man was overly chatty. Justin pulled the older man around the corner and into a doorway as he fiddled with his keys. "It's a walk up – the top floor."_

_"Penthouse views." Brian's sarcastic comment was lost on the younger man._

_They made it to the sixth floor. Justin was surprised that his companion didn't seem at all winded. Good cardio. He unlocked the four deadbolts and pulled Brian inside._

_Mouths collided and clothes quickly littered the floor. The frameless mattress had clean sheets that felt cool against Brian's skin. Justin mapped Brian's body with his hands, like he might knead clay trying to figure out what shape to form. But there was no need to wonder; the body before him was perfectly sculpted. Smooth, taut skin stretched across a sleek muscled abdomen – not so overly developed to be obnoxious, but nicely defined. Justin spent a few minutes admiring the man's shoulders before moving lower to the strong, firm legs and the obviously well endowed crotch._

_Justin licked his lips._

_"Go a… head."_

_Justin groaned at the pun, shaking his head and letting a chuckle rumble in his chest. "Definitely not from around here."_

_"I take it you don't object to foreigners?"_

_Justin buried his nose in the crease where Brian's hip and leg met. "Not when they smell as good as you."_

_And then his tongue reached out and swiped at the pearl of pre-cum bubbling from Brian's slit._

_Things moved quickly after that. They fucked fast and fierce, then slow and languid. By midnight they had changed the sheets, taken a shower and were headed for the next round when Brian's cell phone rang._

_"What?... I'm in New York…" Brian listened to the person on the other end. "When did this happen?"_

_Galvanized into action, he quickly gathered up his clothes and started getting dressed. "Which hospital?... I'll get there as soon as I can… give Gus a kiss for me and tell him his dad is on his way… I don't know when I'll get there. If need be I'll see if I can borrow the corporate jet."_

_Almost as an afterthought he turned to the man he'd just had sex with._

_Justin felt his nudity and pulled the sheet from the bed and wrapped himself in it._

_"What's going on?"_

_"I've got to go… my kid's in the hospital… tonsillitis…" Brian was out the door before Justin could say another word._


	13. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  _Asphodel – my regrets will follow you to the grave_   
>  _Striped Carnations – refusal, I'm sorry I can't be with you_   
>  _Yellow Carnations – rejection_

"What is that?" Ted walked into Brian's office with a stack of papers to be signed.

A beautiful glass tube with swirls of black smoke floating in its heavy walls held an odd assortment of red and white striped carnations, yellow carnations and a few stalks of a brown and white striped bloom.

"A train wreck."

Ted didn't even bother to ask.

Brian quickly signed the documents at the flagged positions and pushed the papers back across the desk to Ted. "When did I become a paper pusher?"

"Those papers just made you ten percent richer."

Brian waived Ted off. He leaned back in his chair and stared at the mismatched flowers on his desk. Rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, he massaged his nose. He'd tried to locate Justin's phone number, but it didn't seem to be listed anywhere. 

Brian leaned across his desk and engaged his intercom. "Cynthia?"

"Yeah, boss?"

"Can you handle the calls with Kitty Cravers and Eyeconics this afternoon?"

"Sure, what's up?"

"I need to leave early. Just want to be sure things are left in good hands."

"You've got it. See you tomorrow?"

"Not sure. I'll call you or leave a message with Gail."

~.~.~.~.~

Brian decided he needed a little time to regroup so he headed home and changed clothes. He puttered around then headed to Justin's studio.

The building was devoid of construction workers. Through the glass doors at the street level, Brian could see that the protective floor covering had been removed. Paper still covered the windows on the ground floor, but a discreet sign announcing the upcoming opening of the "Justin Taylor Gallery" alerted passers by of what the shop would hold.

Brian tried the door, but it was locked. He buzzed the buttons next to an intercom. The third one answered with a "click" of the door unlocking, so Brian took it as a sign and entered the building. If nothing else, he had to remember to get Justin's cell phone number before he left.

Justin stood at the third story studio door. The smile on his face faded when he saw Brian. 

Brian noted the change in demeanor, "Guess it wasn't me you were expecting."

"Uh, no, I thought you were my friend Daphne."

"Sorry."

Justin was quite sure he didn't mean it.

Brian walked in and made himself at home on Justin's futon, kicking off his Gucci loafers and propping his feet on the coffee table.

Justin wasn't quite sure what to make of this. 

"Was there something you wanted?"

 _Hmmm, so this was how he was going to play it._ "As a matter of fact, there is. I need your phone number."

"Huh?"

"Your phone number. Despite our encounters, we never have exchanged phone numbers. It's getting rather taxing having to cross town each time I need to speak with you."

"What did you need to speak about?"

"Uh-uh," Brian shook his head and got out his cell phone. "Number first before we get distracted."

"What?... distracted?"

Brian gave Justin a pointed look.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!"

"Exactly, but phone number first."

Justin rattled off the numbers and waited impatiently as Brian programmed it into his phone.

"Was that all?"

"Not quite. I wanted to thank you for inspiring me to add another flower arrangement to the new list of arrangements based on the new language of flowers. The Drama Queen arrangement."

"What?!"

"Really, Justin. _'my regrets will follow you to the grave'_ Aren't you being a bit melodramatic? By the way, the vase was lovely, and even the Asphodel was interesting, but the carnations did nothing for the display."

Justin stood there, his mouth agape. He started to speak a couple of times, only to shut his mouth.

"Cat got your tongue?" Brian lodged his tongue firmly in his cheek.

"Really, was there something you needed?"

Brian unfolded himself from the futon and crossed to where Justin stood. "I put it together, you know."

"Huh?" Justin's brow furrowed.

"You… me… New York. You must have thought I was some backslapping breeder from Altoona, out for a walk on the wild side in the big city." Brian affected a Texan accent, "New York City!" And then resumed his normal voice. "Don't you think it's a bit over dramatic to stalk me?"

"Don't flatter yourself – I didn't stalk you."

"You don't call moving to another city to be near me stalking?"

"I didn't move here to be near you – I'm from Pittsburgh, you shit!"

"No one in their right mind moves _from_ Manhattan _to_ the Pitts."

"I missed my home – New York's not all it's cracked up to be. I like Pittsburgh – don't you know? It's _Some Place Special_."

"Please, you weren't even born when they were using that cheap-ass slogan! So if you didn't move here to stalk me, why are you sending me flowers?"

"I happened to come across you at Babylon one night."

"Huh? Did we fuck?"

"No." Justin sighed in exasperation. "When you left that night – in New York – I kind of went nuts for a while."

Brian visibly shrunk back to the other end of the couch.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, not mental, slice-you-up-with-a-knife nuts! I just, became obsessed – with the whole experience." Justin threw himself on the Futon, and buried his face in his hands. His shoulders slumped. He shook it off and looked up at Brian. "That night, it was different – you and me, we were good together. I'd never had that. I'd been living hand to mouth – the quintessential starving artist. You gave me something…"

Brian puffed out a mouth full of air. "I gave you something all right, I gave you a rim job and fucked your brains out. There was nothing special…"

"No! That's where you're wrong. It was special. It was different. It was more than anything I'd had before… or since. Tell me you didn't feel it too! You can't deny it!"

Brian rubbed his eyes. Now that all the pieces were in place, he could acknowledge that their night together all those years ago was good – better than good, better than most. But with his worries with Gus… and the hospital… getting back to Pittsburgh. He'd put it behind him, written it off.

But two days ago, it had all come crashing back. Brian looked at the dejected man on the couch.

"Justin… I…" Brian splayed his arms wide. "I don't know what you want from me. Ask around – I don't do relationships. My friends think I'm Peter Pan."

"Your friends are wrong."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence – I've often felt that way. But you don't know me or my friends."

"Well, if Gus' mothers are any indication, you could certainly use a few new ones. Look, you say you don't do relationships, but I've seen you with your son."

Brian snorted, "For all of ten minutes."

"You can't fool me. I saw you – it could be ten minutes or ten years – you can't fake love for a child. Believe me, I've seen it from both sides."

"Oh? You have a son, too?"

"No, but I know a fathers love. And I've experienced it when it's turned to hate. I know what real love looks like. You love Gus very much. So much that I bet you moved heaven and earth to get back to Pittsburgh from New York when he needed you."

Brian nodded. He'd called in every favor he had to get back to Pittsburgh and to Gus. He'd made it back in less than three hours. "So what do you want from me?"

"Maybe a night that ends up with us still together in the morning, instead of you running out like your hair is on fire?"

Brian slid closer to Justin on futon. "Maybe we should start slowly – take it easy, get to know one another. You're not half bad out of bed. It might be interesting to talk to one another instead of saying it with flowers."

Justin snickered. "What was I thinking – how lame was that?"

Brian bumped Justin's shoulder with his. "It worked, it got my attention."

"Only because some old lady figured it out and told you."

"I'll have you know that Helen is not 'some old lady'. Well, okay, maybe she is the crypt keeper. But she doesn't miss much."

"So now what?"

"Like I said, take it slow, get to know one another."

"No sex?"

"Fuck, no! Not that slow. Just – and I can't believe I'm saying this – talk more."

"I don't know, I think maybe we should hold off on the sex part…"

"Justin…"

Justin smiled at Brian. This might just work.

~>~>~>~>~>

There's just one more thing - the Epilogue


	14. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Honey, I'm home!" Brian pushed through the studio door, his suitcase and laptop bag abandoned in the doorway, a box in his arms.

Justin pushed his brushes into the jar of turpentine. He extracted himself from the old shirt of Brian's he'd been using for a smock. Carefully, he made sure he was void of any paint before launching himself into Brian's waiting arms.

"Took you long enough!"

"Well, after the last time, listening to you bitch about my ruining your new Armani suit, I've learned to be careful. Hey! What's in the box."

"A token from my latest client."

"Lemme see!" Justin grabbed for the box

"Ah, ah, ah! You have to earn your present first. Are your little PIFA boys here?"

"No – did you want them to watch as I 'earned' my reward?"

"Fuck no, my exhibitionist days are over, or at least very numbered. After the last time when Peter walked in on us…"

"Paul," Justin corrected.

"Whatever, he could be Phil for all I care."

Justin leaned up against Brian, petting his chest and dispensing with the buttons on his shirt. Before Brian knew it, Justin had divested him of his shirt and was making headway with his pants.

Justin dropped to his knees; he pushed Brian's trousers down to the floor, capturing the older man where he stood. Justin leaned forward and, making an unattractive slurping sound, painted a line of wetness from the base of Brian's cock to its head. He twirled his tongue around the crown and, covering his teeth with his lips, pulled Brian into his mouth.

"Fuck, Justin, I can't move." Brian complained. He attempted to move his feet, to free himself of his pants and shoes, but it was no use. A shift in either direction and he'd be on the floor on his back – or worse, on his face. The last thing he needed was a broken nose, or, with his luck, a broken cock. Because at this moment, he was so hard he could swear he might break in two.

Sighing – in resignation and in satisfaction – Brian's hands clutched at Justin's shoulders. _Fuck, Justin was good at this. Hell, when it came to sex there wasn't anything Justin wasn't good at._ Even after all their year's together, no one could make him burn hotter. 

Tipping the scale at 50, Brian had managed to build two thriving businesses, be a fairly good father, and attain something he hadn't even thought he wanted, let alone thought he would achieve. A relationship.

Brian lovingly stroked Justin's soft hair, now wheat colored as it turned in winter with lack of exposure to the sun. Soon the weather would turn warm, and it would lighten to the color of the sun, matching his lover's smile in its brilliance.

Justin redoubled his efforts, and Brian hands moved to his partner's strong shoulders to steady himself. He let the pleasure wash over him. Brian felt the tension build and, knowing it couldn't last much longer, he steadily began to pull back, gently dislodging Justin from his task.

"Brian, what the fuck…?"

"It's been a week. When I come, I want to be inside you; I want it to be with you."

"You chose a hell of a time to make that decision." Justin pulled himself up from the floor and quickly began removing his clothes.

Brian, still tangled up in pants and shoes, wasn't having much luck.

"Uh, Justin…"

Naked, Justin turned and took in Brian's predicament. He laughed before moving to help Brian from his captive clothing.

Now free, Brian was able to swiftly move them to the pile of large floor pillows Justin kept for extra seating, and times like these. Urgently, but not so much that they would lose any pleasure, Brian wrestled Justin down and covered him with his body. Their lips met and mouths played before exploring the sensitive sweet spots they had learned over the years. 

Quickly, Brian prepared himself and Justin. And then, in total satisfaction, he became one with his partner; rising up, only to sink again into the warm and welcoming flesh of the man who had brought so much joy to his life.

Brian pulled back, raising himself up on steady and strong arms. He looked into the infinite depths of those deep blue eyes. "Fuck, I love you."

Justin's answer was to smile and urge Brian on with his legs – closer, deeper, faster.

Brian zoomed in for a kiss before resuming his rhythm. The pace became a steady, driving beat as Brian relentlessly brought them close to climax time and time again, only to turn them back.

Unable to take the teasing any longer, Justin wound his legs around Brian, capturing him and keeping him firmly lodged home. He began a steady rhythm of his own, clenching and releasing his internal muscles. Justin could feel the quick intake of Brian's breath, and was relieved when Brian reached for his aching cock.

"…mmmm, together."

Brian stroked in time with Justin's squeeze and release. As Justin became more aroused, Brian managed to dislodge himself from his lover's legs. He resumed long, hard, deep strokes, heightening Justin's pleasure, hitting that bundle of nerves, until finally they both shattered.

When they both regained their breath and actually could speak, it was Justin who spoke first.

"Christ, I missed you. Missed that. I don't think you can be allowed to go away any more."

Brian snorted a laugh. "You're such a sucker for a big cock."

"Only yours, my love."

Brian closed his eyes. At one time, such sentimental phrases would have bothered him, but no longer; his stalker had put an end to that. Through a bunch of flowers, he'd learned to listen to what Justin was saying – flowers, art, words - they demonstrated heartfelt emotions. Brian was learning to be more open and sharing. The words came hard, but Brian didn't skimp on touches and gestures that spoke to Justin just as loudly.

Justin burrowed into Brian's shoulder and drifted off. Brian probably should have joined him – the travel from Europe, connecting flights to Pittsburgh, he should be dead tired. But he had only to spend a few moments in the presence of Justin to feel invigorated and refreshed. 

Gently, Brian dislodged himself from Justin and crossed the room to the where the box had fallen. Picking it up, he returned to the pallet where Justin lay. Brian sat and watched his lover sleep, then joined him, spooning up behind the man he loved.

It was Justin who woke first. It had probably been less than a half hour. Brian roused as well when he felt Justin's movements.

"You never did say what was in the box."

Brian smiled, "A present for you, courtesy of Kinnetik's latest client – The Holland Tulip Growers Association." Brian lifted the lid to reveal dozens of yellow tulips.

"That's a lot of tulips – I would have been happy with just a few."

"I know, but sometimes I like to splurge. I was thinking of that series of blue glass vases you made last year. I thought they'd look good in the gallery."

"But I wasn't planning on selling those."

Brian shrugged, "They’d still look good on display with the Tulips. They'll only last a week, but it will be nice to have something bright in the midst of the winter snow."

Justin picked up a bloom, the flower was tightly closed, but he knew it would quickly open in the heat of the studio and gallery. He twirled it around. "I know why tulips, but why yellow? Are you trying to tell me something Mr. Kinney?"

Brian smiled, "They made me think of you."

Justin raised his eyebrows and waited for an explanation.

Brian plucked the bloom from Justin's hand and ran the soft petals down Justin's chest and along his legs.

"Yellow tulips." Brian pulled the flower across Justin's cheeks and over his lips. " _There's sunshine in your smile_."

Justin slipped the tulip from Brian's fingers and laid it aside. "Brian Kinney, _you_ are the sunshine in my smile."

~.~.~.~.~

For the next week, the gallery was filled with beautiful blue glass vases filled in abundance with yellow tulips. When people asked about the flowers, Justin would smile and say they were a ridiculously romantic gesture from an admirer. But to himself, he would gleefully smile and remind himself that Brian Kinney did indeed do romance.

~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~> The End ~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've enjoyed this fic. If you have, it was written for the Help_Haiti fundraiser. Consider donating to your favorite disaster relief fund or agency. Remember these programs rely on you generosity in time there are no disasters so that they may respond swiftly when one happens. Over the last couple of years there have been many disasters throughout the globe, along with global economic depression that have really impacted donations. So if you've enjoyed this fic, consider passing on that grande vente latte machiato and consider donating that $5 to a worthy cause.


End file.
